The first grip was a revelation.
Valen's fingers, guided by the glowing brackets of the Codex's overlay, closed around a knob of rock. The old Valen, the scavenger who knew his limits, would have tested the hold, distributing his weight carefully. The new Valen simply squeezed.
A low grinding sound echoed in the silence as hairline cracks radiated from his fingertips. The rock itself groaned under the pressure.
[Warning: Grip force exceeding structural integrity of handhold. Modulate to 75% of current output.]
He eased his grip, a flicker of something—not fear, but a cold, startling awareness—running through him. The Codex wasn't just augmenting him; it was teaching him to control a power he couldn't instinctively comprehend. He was a child learning to walk in the body of a golem.
He began to climb.
It wasn't a scramble. It wasn't a struggle. It was a flow. Left hand, right foot. Push. Right hand, left foot. Push. His movements were efficient, precise, stripped of all wasted motion. The chasm wall, a sheer, impossible cliff face, became a ladder.
Ten meters. Twenty. The old Valen's muscles would have started to burn, his lungs screaming for air. The new Valen felt nothing but the smooth, piston-like motion of his limbs. A new notification pinged silently in his vision.
[Physiological State: Optimal.] [Stamina reserves: 98.6%.] [Lactic acid accumulation: Negligible.]
He was a perfect machine designed for this single purpose. He climbed faster, the rhythm becoming a blur of motion. The drip-drip-drip from the abyss floor faded, replaced by the whisper of wind from the opening far above. The circle of grey light grew, promising a world he had thought he would never see again.
Fifty meters. One hundred. He didn't look down. Not out of fear, but because the abyss no longer mattered. It was a part of his past, a womb from which he had been violently reborn. His focus was entirely on the path ahead, the glowing blue brackets that the Codex laid out for him like a celestial roadmap.
At one hundred and fifty meters, a new alert flashed, this one tinged with amber.
[Warning: Unstable geological formation detected 12 meters ahead. Sub-dermal resonance scan indicates high-probability rockslide trigger.]
The section of the wall directly on his optimal path was now highlighted in a shimmering, cautionary red. Two alternate routes appeared. One was a long, precarious traverse to the left, adding at least thirty minutes to the climb. The other was shorter, but required a vertical leap of four meters across a crumbling section to a more solid-looking ledge.
The old Valen would have taken the safe route without hesitation. Survival was about patience, not heroics.
[Analyzing alternate routes. Route A (traverse): 94% success probability. Route B (vertical leap): 81% success probability. Requires maximal power output.]
The choice was not a choice at all. It was a test.
He dismissed the traverse route with a thought and moved towards the leap. He positioned himself on the ledge the Codex indicated, his feet finding perfect purchase.
[Optimal stance achieved. Calculating trajectory and required force.] [Bend knees to 47 degrees. Tense lumbar and gluteal muscles. Execute on command.]
He obeyed, his body coiling like a spring, the optimized muscles humming with potential energy.
[EXECUTE.]
Valen didn't jump. He exploded upwards.
The force of his push shattered the ledge he'd been standing on, the rock crumbling into dust and falling away into the chasm. For a single, breathtaking second, he was flying, the walls of the abyss a blur on either side. He was weightless, a projectile of flesh and bone aimed by an infallible system.
His fingers hooked onto the target ledge, the impact jarring but harmless. His augmented bones absorbed the shock with ease. He hauled himself up in a single, fluid motion. He didn't even feel a strain.
The rest of the climb was a formality. The grey circle of light became a gaping maw, and soon he could smell the dry, metallic tang of the ruin's upper levels. With one final, powerful pull, he heaved himself over the edge and onto the dusty floor he had been shoved from.
He stood. He did not pant. He did not tremble. His heart rate, monitored by the Codex, was as steady as a drum.
Sunlight, or what passed for it in this ruined world, streamed through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating the swirling dust motes. He was back.
The bodies were gone. Ryker and the crew had taken their dead, a scavenger custom to prevent unwanted questions. But they'd been sloppy. A dark, reddish-brown stain marked the spot where one of them had fallen during the brief, pathetic fight over the Relic. And near the edge of the chasm, almost invisible, were scuff marks. The marks of his own boots dragging as they'd pushed his body over the edge.
The Codex remained silent, awaiting its next directive. It had fulfilled its primary function: ensure host survival. Now, a new one was needed.
Valen looked at the scuff marks, then out towards the entrance of the ruin. The rage he'd felt was gone. The pain was a distant memory. All that was left was a purpose, as cold and hard as the Architect stone beneath his feet.
The fall was over. The climb had just begun.